


Give me back the meaning

by Skyanaa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Canon, finding each other, they are destined to be together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 00:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyanaa/pseuds/Skyanaa
Summary: Heaven and Hell decide to try all over again, erasing Aziraphale and Crowley's memory and sending them back to earth. What they didn't realize, however, is that love always finds a way.Or: Another memory loss fanfic because I love me some good angst





	Give me back the meaning

Crowley was sitting quietly in some small restaurant, drinking one of their stronger alcohols. He wasn't a big fan of human food, but he had grown to enjoy drinking. It made him feel something, something that wasn't the emptiness he'd felt ever since he could remember. Which was only a couple hundred years, if he was being fair.

He knew there were other things before that. Things that appeared in his mind sometimes, only to slip away when he tried to think of them. And the goddamned ache in his chest, the ever-present feeling that something was missing.

No matter what he did, it never seemed to go away.

He didn't even bother to ask another demons about it. He realized that even if they knew the answer, they wouldn't bother to tell him. There certainly was a number of things they weren't telling him. They didn't trust him and he didn't trust them. But that was normal, right? They were demons, after all.

The feelings he felt couldn't be natural, though. Not for a demon, a being that's supposed to spread evil. Demons didn't have feelings, other than hatred, maybe. And Crowley was sure, that wasn't what it was. He had no idea what was going on with him.

He had pretty clear memories of the earliest thing he remembered. It was literal hell.

He knew he was a demon, of course he knew that. He knew there were angels and demons and that they usually hated each other. But, at that moment, that was all that was in his mind. Nothing else, not a single idea of what was happening. Beelzebub tried to sell him some bullshit but he didn't really listen. Deep down, he realized something wasn't right. Nothing was right, to be precise. But he had nowhere else to go. So he stayed. Did what they wanted him to do.

Soon enough, they trusted him enough to put him on Earth. Or maybe they didn't really trust him, but they did it anyway. He suspected that they might be watching him. He did his job as well as he could, even though it didn't always feel right. But he was a demon. He was evil. He had to do what's in his power to keep up that appearance. He shouldn't be bothered by human things.

Actually being on Earth felt refreshing, though. It gave him a little more energy and sometimes, he felt like the small part of the emptiness inside him started to fill with something good.

Throughout the years, he tried to see how much will he be allowed to bend the rules. There weren't many of them, but Hell had clearly stated that there will be a punishment for them. _Don't do good_ , this one was standard. Crowley wouldn't admit it, but this rule was the one he'd broken many times. There was just a part of him that felt amazing whenever something good would happen. It was probably left from when he was still an angel. But, he told himself, he wasn't that anymore. He was a demon, and demons weren't good. So he did everything he could to ignore that stupid desire to do what's right. And, he had to say, he was pretty good at that, most of the time.

There was another rule, however, that stood out to him quite a lot. _Don't interact with the Earth's angel, Aziraphale. Avoid all contact._ He found that nonsensical. If the angel was supposed to try to thwart his evil plans, wouldn't it be obvious that at some point they would cross paths? If they were truly fighting on the opposite sides of the conflict, shouldn't they at least know who they are standing against?

He knew that, for some reason, Hell didn't want him to meet with this mysterious angel.

That's why he decided to attract as much attention to himself as he could. Doing some evil here and there, making sure everyone would know that it was the work of a demon. He had hoped that maybe if he did enough, the angel would face him. He only ever wanted answers. From what he knew, his will to ask questions must've been the reason of his fall. He didn't remember it, of course, but it would be the only thing that would make sense. No matter what he kept telling everyone, he wasn't actually evil. Not inside, at least. But he had always wanted to know. To finally have his questions, his doubts, answered.

And ever since he got here there was this question, in the back of his mind, that kept bothering him. The question he couldn't voice, he wasn't even sure what it meant. But it was this question that drew him to the angel, even if he didn't know why. He didn't know the angel, after all. And he shouldn't care about him, he shouldn't be bothered. If anything, he should be glad that they haven't met yet. They were enemies. There was no way it could turn out good for either if them.

It wasn't the only thing he was weirdly drawn to, however. There were so many places in London alone, where everything seemed different. Where he felt the undescribed longing for something just right out if his reach, as if a part of him was missing. The old bookshop in Soho felt so familiar, even if it hasn't been opened in years. It was unusual and scary. There was nothing he wanted more than for these feelings to disappear, even if he was forced to live for eternity in numbness and boredom.

Sometimes the emptiness was barely present, giving him hope that maybe finally it could be over. The feeling could disappear and forever be remembered just as a weird phase, disregarded as something that doesn't matter anymore. Of course, that was never the case and after time, Crowley had learned to stop getting his hopes up. It wasn't like anything could ever work out right for him, anyway.

Years went by and Hell had seemingly lost interest in watching his every move, allowing him to finally have the creative freedom he felt like he needed.

He didn't bother hiding his little miracles anymore. It wasn't like anyone was checking. And it seemed like the local angel wasn't doing a lot of work here, so why wouldn't he do his job for him.

Of course, he had an excuse. More than one, actually. _It's more fun this way, I can tempt them more easily._ They were more to himself than to anyone else, at this point. He was a demon and he had to do evil. It was all he did. _The good deeds were all selfish anyway._ They were just to fill the emptiness inside. That was the only reason he believed was real.

All of that had finally brought him here. To a restaurant in the suburbs of London. The location didn't matter, really. It was just an excuse to get something good to drink.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" a strangely familiar voice asked and Crowley looked up to see who it was, ignoring the almost overwhelming rush of feelings that filled his chest.


End file.
